


Lucky Strike

by noblydonedonnanoble



Series: The Road We Never Drove On [12]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Essentially PWP. So yeah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Strike

**Author's Note:**

> I'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this; I encourage it for this whole series, really, but I think this one in particular is ten times better with the music. So if you don't have the song, here's a link for that... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_KmKckV7tE

                I don’t even know why she bothered to unbutton my shirt; perhaps it’s habit, the result of too many nights spent in her flat and not enough stolen moments where there are more urgent things to do than remove articles of clothing. But regardless of her actual reason, it’s taken her far too long to get to my trousers.

                Now, she is unbuttoning them. At the same time, her tongue is tracing patterns in my mouth. Her teeth graze across my lower lip as she unzips and tugs at the fabric. Her hands move to rest on my hips, hooking into my boxers and pulling.

                The knock on the door makes us both jump. “David! Five minutes until curtain. Do you know where Catherine is? I can’t find her.”

                “No idea, sorry!” My voice gets caught in my throat and I feel as though I sound more like a dying cat than myself—Catherine giggles ever so softly in front of me and I scowl at her.

                “Well I’d appreciate if you could hurry, please.”

                “’Course, be out soon!”

                After maybe ten seconds to allow us to regain our privacy, I smile and lean close, saying, “Where were we?”

                My lips don’t even meet hers before she’s pushing me away, pulling my boxers and trousers back to their proper home at my waist. “Sorry, David. I need to finish getting ready.”

                I gape at her. “What?”

                When leaving the room, she fucking _smiles_ at me. “You might want to take care of that, David,” she adds, gesturing toward my general pelvic region.

                She’s making light of a hard-on that I wouldn’t have if she hadn’t shown up at my door.

                I’m one of the last people to appear, all flustered and straightening my shirt. At the sight of me, Catherine grins and looks me up and down. Her eyebrows raise just slightly, and I’m about to stroll over to her and ask her why but then she’s going on stage and we’re starting and I don’t have an opportunity.

                Standing so close to her on stage drives me mad. She keeps looking at me, eyes twinkling and a teasing smile playing on her lips—perfect for her role of Beatrice, but simply horrible directed at me right now.

                When I go off to shave before my next scene, I feel relieved because she can’t distract me, can’t hold my gaze with those bewitching eyes or make provocative faces at me in the semi-darkness backstage and under the shift lights.

                Also, I really kind of need the cold shower.

                When I’m holding her close on the lawn chair, she somehow finds a way to grind up against me and I have to do everything possible to not make a sound and she knows it. She refuses to kiss me, and when I have to look thoroughly displeased it is in no way acting.

                And when I finally get the opportunity to kiss her, she’s far too eager when she wraps her arms around me, fingernails digging into my back but not successfully receiving purchase through my shirt.

                She has to pull away, of course, but when she does it’s all I can do to _let_ her. Really, I would take her right here on the stage if I weren’t so against the idea of being arrested for public indecency. Though reading the articles in the tabloids tomorrow would certainly be interesting.

                Even after all of that, she’s still looking at me like she’s imagining the things she’d like to do to me right now. In fact, she probably _is_ imagining the things she’d like to do to me. But her expression is fucking with my mind and when I face away from the audience for a moment I give her a look.

                Doesn’t help.

                If anything, it makes her worse.

                At the stage door, I stay away from her as much as possible purely because the idea of even brushing past her is painful.

                We leave the theatre together, and as we go our separate ways, I know she knows that I will come to her door tonight.

                It’s after midnight by the time I’m knocking on the door of her flat. Catherine answers, and actually bothers to fake some surprise. “David, what are you—“

                As if I would let her finish a sentence. The door is shut and I’m snogging her, much in the same manner that I was only a few hours ago on stage. In an equally similar way, she throws her arms around me and pulls me against her.

                “I fucking hate you,” I mutter, even as I’m moving to kiss along her neck. “So much.”

                “No you don’t,” she says, a hint of laughter in her voice.

                I pull back and look at Catherine. “Fine. But you’re still cruel, to leave me hanging like that tonight.” She snickers and I scowl. “Really. It wasn’t funny.”

                “I didn’t do it to be funny, David! I really did have to get ready!”

                But then she spent all evening looking at me with those teasing eyes, making me want to throw her to the floor of the stage and rip every article of clothing from her body with my teeth. Which she did find funny. I, for one, am not particularly amused.

                So I grab her wrist and pull her to the bedroom.

                “Strip, please.”

                Her eyebrows knit together. “What?”

                “ Your clothes. Remove them. It’s fairly straightforward.”

                Although she grasps at the hem of her shirt, she still looks slightly hesitant. “Why?”

                "What do two people generally do when they get naked together?”

                That statement is enough for Catherine to at least not ask any more questions. She tugs her shirt off, reaches back and unclips her bra, discarding that as well. At this point, she sees that I’m simply standing in front of her, doing nothing. “What you’re implying, David, generally requires two people to undress, not just one.”

                I raise my eyebrows. “Keep going.”

                She does, sliding her shorts and knickers off together and kicking them aside. “And you?” She sounds uncertain, and I know she’s wondering what’s going through my head.

                “Lie down, please.”

                Under normal circumstances, she would be putting up at least a bit of a fight. But she listens to me without complaint, resting her head on her pillow. She stares at me with big, round eyes.

                I only bother to toe off my shoes before crawling forward and kissing her again. Beneath me, she’s radiating heat, but when she arches up in reaction to my touch, I shiver. She clings to my neck with both hands to deepen our kiss. My fingers wander from her hair to her breasts to her stomach, grazing skin but not lingering for long in any particular place.

                When I pause to allow a moment for breathing, she says, “David, why are you still—”Wearing anything.

                “Because.” I shift so that I’m on my knees, straddling one of her legs. “This is about you. And how much I want to kiss and taste every inch of you. And also hear you scream my name so loudly that the children two floors above us wake up and have to ask their parents about the definition of a few words a few years too early.”

                “There are no children two floors…”

                All I need to do is begin to suck on her neck and she trails off to nothing.

                For some time, the only sound in the room is her increasingly heavy breathing. Sometimes, I pinpoint a particularly tender spot and she lets out a gasp.

                It’s when my lips are somewhere around her hipbone when she whispers, “David.”

                I look up at her and make eye contact. Her pupils are enormous, making her eyes look entirely dark. “Could you?”

                After a moment when I just hold her gaze, my right hand moves from her hip, lingering at her entrance. “Could I what, Catherine?”

                “Christ, David.” She squirms beneath me. “I fucking hate you.”

                I enter her with one finger and smirk when she moans. “No you don’t.”

                She’s slick and wet—and that’s all because of me, I love that it’s because of me—and I add one more finger before saying, “But what’s the magic word?”

                Her breathing is ragged, but I hear her whisper, “Please.”

                “What was that?”

                My index finger brushes her clit just as she’s opening her mouth to speak and it comes out as a scream. “Please!”

                And with a small smile I replace my fingers with my tongue, relishing in the moan that fills the room. Her left hand knots into my hair, fingers tugging on strands as I taste her. She’s gasping, breath ragged, but each time she shouts I’m fairly certain she could wake up the people three floors above us, not just two.

                “David, I…”

                I stop, crawling away and settling on my knees between her ankles.

                “What the fuck are you doing?”

                “Making you do what I had to at the theatre tonight.” Catherine is looking at me, eyes narrow, but I can’t take her glare seriously when she’s so far gone and when I know all would be forgiven if I simply _go back to what I was doing_. But I’m not going to. “You had me finish myself off, so I can make you do it too.”

                She arches up as I watch, hips bucking against her own fingers. I stare at her face almost the entire time, because every time she opens her eyes I want me looking at her to be the only thing she sees. When she reaches her peak, I watch her orgasm spread through her body while she screams.

                As she’s coming down from her high, I turn and face away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed and listening to her breathing return to normal.

                But then she’s crawled forward and her arms are wrapped around me, fumbling at the buttons of my shirt and doing her best to remove it quickly. “You’re a fucking prat,” she murmurs in my ear. Her hand runs up my chest, arriving at my chin and turning my head so I’m looking her in the eye. “But now I want you to fuck me. Please.” The last word comes out as little more than a hiss.

                Well. If she’s going to say please.

                Catherine pushes me to the floor, because “After that, you don’t deserve a bed.” Our kisses are hot and wet and her hands are roaming, nails marking my skin and I don’t even care. One of her hands makes its way down, and when her thumb brushes ever so slightly across the tip of my cock, my head knocks against the hard wood floor and I howl. I sit up, grabbing her hips and kissing her upright.

                And then she’s centering herself over me and I reach out to brush her hair out of her eyes. I receive a small smile in response.

                Since before the show tonight, all I’ve wanted has been to be inside her. Finally, I get that.

                We collapse forward, foreheads coming together as we attempt to slow our breathing, slow our heartbeats. I bring my left hand up to cup her face and kiss her gently, tongue lazily brushing past her lips.

                “I won’t do that again,” Catherine says softly. “I really did think we had enough time.”

                Now, I don’t even care, so I just sigh. “I know.” After a moment, I say, “I might do that again, though.”

                Before she can process my words entirely, I’m kissing her again.


End file.
